


Burning

by ThePlaceThatILeft (Rei_Kingdom)



Series: Pre-Mature Ramblings: Beginnings of a Small (Bright) Spark [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (it was written on the teacher's comment), ? - Freeform, Camping, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Italics, Library, POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD (implied?), Senses, Short, almost like, apparently, because my now i hate first person, focus on the, gone wrong, gratuitous use of, in his house, stage directions, why does he have a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:17:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6349621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei_Kingdom/pseuds/ThePlaceThatILeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was burning. She already did.</p><p>/Originally written at age 14 for an English short story that used the 5 senses.<br/>Though old, these are improving (at least compared to the first ones).<br/>See series notes as to why these exist./</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear People of the Internet!  
> As you can see this one won't be as cringe-inducing as the past ones (I was 14 this time!).  
> I actually like this one.
> 
> Enjoy! (now that I have better writing skills)

The door slammed shut – the only sound throughout the forever empty rooms.

The day had been humid, air clinging to his skin, pasting hair and clothes down with a stifling presence. But the heat was forgotten as the house felt cold, like his very breath was frozen as it left his mouth in shuddering gasps. His body was rain-soaked despite the heated air, the entranceway as frigid and lonely as the frozen lump stuck in his suddenly dry throat. A choked cry resounded through the house, tears mixing with rain as his knees sunk to the floor, blessedly cool for his tired body, but overly cold compared to the burning coal craved in his heart, burning away his will to go on.

Burning, _burning_ … always, _just like the day when she-_

With a shuddering intake and shaky legs, he stood with uncertainty, heading to the most prominent room in the house; the library. A comforting scent of over-worn pages and musk eased his exhausted mind, wrapping around him like an old blanket, momentarily soothing the embers before they burst to life once again, continuing to ebb away at his conscience. His walked past the dusty shelves, memories resurfacing of times more pleasant, less complicated. He skimmed through the titles, allowing only a small, melancholic smile to pull at his lips as he passed a particular book.

Then that moment was gone and he felt the coal begin to heat.

He attempted a deep breath – he had forgotten he needed to breathe – but it only came out as a choked gasp, gagging slightly as dust entered his lungs.

It had been so long… _so long since the day she-_

Pain registered in his palms and he realised his fists were clenched hard enough to draw blood. He was so tense, he noticed with a dry humourless chuckle. Forcibly prying his fingers away, he stared at the blood on his fingertips – the scarlet colour diluted by his sweat and the summer rain – with clinical detachment. He briefly toyed with the idea of washing it off, but decided it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

He sighed, leaning against the bookshelf at his back, and closed his eyes. Memories flashed in his mind’s eye, warm but distant – like a faraway light he could never reach, never touch… _never again_.

* * *

  _(The orange sky, streaked with pink, scattered clouds and the burning sun dipping below the horizon._

_The gentle breeze, a momentary nirvana in the summer heat._

_The subtle scent of cherry blossoms – they always reminded him of her._

_The sound of birdsong – lyrical and bright, as if coaxing to play._

_The taste of marshmallows – light, sweet, barely singed from the campfire._

_Her gentle smile, harmonious voice – her eyes were sparkling, laughing – always laughing.)_

* * *

 Then the scene changed and agonised screams resounded in the empty house.

* * *

  _(The sky was almost crimson and shadows were swirling, the sun gone and in its place a giant inferno._

_The harsh wind stung with heat and embers, pushing him away from the flames._

_The overpowering stench of smoke and burnt flesh encased the area – he couldn’t breathe._

_The echoing screams permeated the air… pain, cries for help – she was crying for help-!_

_The air dry and stifling – burning his throat and choking his lungs._

_And her face, her beautiful, beautiful face… contorted in agony as she burned._

_Burning black as flames danced around her. Had to run, had to get there-_

_He couldn’t move. He couldn’t reach._

_Why-? Why did he leave? Why wasn’t he_ with _her?_

_She burned.)_

* * *

 

And he kept screaming through the house because – no, no, _no, NO_ – _forget…_ he has to _forget._

It’s not happening, _not again_ – not happening, _NOT happening_.

 

… And there he knelt – crying and screaming – _burning_.

**Author's Note:**

> hooray for not as bad writing!
> 
> originally written in Calibri (Body) font.


End file.
